Thursday, September 12, 2013

Touch me. I'm sick.

Top of the morning gents,

I sure hope me missives offensive are received in good health, wealth and beauty. Even if yer wives are mean as shit and menopausal akin to super pussy glue. Menopause. Fuck what a nice word for a decade long visit to the Bleeding Hut up at Pike's Spit. 15 years ago, I phoned my fucking dad and asked him what menopause means. He replied "son, now you know why I drink in the morning." Real funny fucker.

No shit, you niggers are in fer a nasty stretch. Real nasty. Nasty enough to kill small children and force yer sex life back into fresher no-baby tighty whitey pussy.

I know the ages of most of yer cheating wives, bitches and sour cream filled donut holes, and may God have mercy on your soul: if you don't shoot them soon. In Barrow, whoever passes out first: gets it. So this morning would work best, or MeanOldPause will rapidly shrink yer no-nut spouse's pussy from a silk purse back into a sow's ear. Midwest wit fer you older Irish Mick Fucks.

Hold on, as I dig through my KPD diaries and notebooks...gag a maggot, I'm looking at nude photos of nasty departed June Nelson with Alfred Allen on her in the meat wagon before she got too cold. Ick. Alfred Allen should be put on a leash, in a dog box and bunk it with Cecil Hawley. Imagine the butt-baby with those two rectal horn dogs.

Menopause. Wow, we are SO old. Pert near dirt dicks, worm bait and petrified pussy. I can never again date women my own age. Hags look just like my grandma. After menopause, yer dumber wives might wish to become a tampon but never white, tight nor outa sight. They'll stay brown, loose and in yer fucking face.

We're still young. Oh, right. You thought you were less than half-way through life and that middle-aged implies you'll live to the age of 104. Ain't happening negro. I'll likely live as long as my clan o' violent alcoholics, pedophiles and child abusers: somewhere between the lifespan of an incest abortion in my septic tank or my uncle Marvin under twin truck tires all the way to great-grand-motherfucker.

Oh, too late. I already am a GreatGrandMotherFucker. NewsFlash: I got little itty bitty inukun runt bait that call me "Awmmaw." I've been promoted from Appa to the Eskimo term: silver haired rapist. Back in my former rank I used to tell the grandkids to "be quiet while I go upstairs and fuck yer grandma." My ugly nordic face makes her pussy dry, but my dick will defrost and season her long-rotten eggs.

I ain't kidding, kill yer partners. Permiscuous infidelity before menopause earns a big ZERO in the Musta Makki (Finnish Black Market) forgiveness balance sheet. How sweet: fool around then dry up and seal yer pussy with Super Glue. Kewl. Reason them old bitches at the Kotzebue Senior Center are so mad? Takes a shoe horn to git yer dick in 'em yet the butt is already pre-moistened due to hot flashes and diaper rash. Attitude and non-detergent motor oil is on yer dumbass itinerary. For the next God forsaken decade!

Yup, and if y'all got bastard kids that look like any of our former KPD/AST coworker fat pukes or if our wives still git Kiana blisters, Noatak burns or bits of sheetrock in their cooters: shoot the bitch. Hell, I will. Just ask. Won't even fuck 'em. That costs extra.

Way back pert near quarter century ago in the old KPD jail, Lt. Eunice advised me to leave the police department if I wanted to stay married. Cuz ye ain't a cop if ye ain't got the 3 D's behind you: Divorce, Desertion or Death. I told him that I wasn't married whereupon he told me to get used to hangovers and stinky women. Single men with my resume and at the ripe old age of 28 tend to stay single and not likely to ever marry and die of alcoholism. Or venarial disease.

Eunice is a fucking genius. Cuz I did.

I fucking don't mean I'm dead yet, but damn, the devastation alcohol and the clap has had on me...fuck me in the goat ass, I don't even qualify as scrap meat. If I ain't walking my own rotten nigger ass into Samuel Simmonds, Manilaq or Harborview Medical Center's STD Gyno-Death-Pussy/Stinky-Dick Health Clinic, I'm walking in one of my little brothers. Mental illness and penis rot run in families. So does stupid shit behavior.

Wearing a condom feels like I'm fucking a tarp. Something no heat-seeking moisture missile would want to repeat. So I don't. In my career as impersonating a human being I've never practiced firearms safety, food safety, nor sex. I've a sneaking feeling none of us have EVER practiced safe anything.

Touch me, I'm sick. Growing up as your fictional character Flogged Toddler Finn, I grew to enjoy the process of filling the freezer. Sigluk to you ice monkeys. But I also tended to treat myself in health ways analogous to the animals I slaughter. And the folks that can't see me anymore. I smoke, drink, do drugs and then take vitamins. Do you smell a dumbfuck?

Walking talking contradictory human facade. REAL intelligent dumbfuck. "If I'd known I would've lived this long, I would've taken better care of myself." (anonymous) I'm fit and strong, and can outrun you and all yer kids, but likely wouldn't survive another trip to Noatak or Galena. It's been 20 years to the day and their maggot infested version of Pussy Bubonic plagues us all.

Since puberty I've been in some sort of treatment or other. I got popped for a coupla MCA's and coupla MIP's fer weed. A coupla assault arrests, theft and littering. And detonating a pipebomb at a school function. I fucking got court-ordered to hang out with old cops at AA meetings, then long sessions at Snohomish County's Drug Abuse Council. The crowning of my psychopathology was befriending Dr. Marilyn Grey. She forced me to read entire en-psych-clopedias and then return with a brief written report and oral syposis of what I found sick twisted whacking material. She recommended I should reinvent myself everyday and renew my membership to the human race. Fucking genius also convinced me I was bright, beautiful, capable and lovable.

Makes ye barf don't it?

I still try to remember her council. Then I go right ahead and illegally buy and sell guns of all sorts and alcohol and drugs to minority folks I like. And if I really like them, I'll park a car bomb right at the entrance to their fucking church. Or courthouse. Then go to jail. Again.

Ya see, I'm feeling menopause on my ass. My wife looks way different: I can't see my reflection.

No shit. A life of Sundays is VERY good for crippled albinos like me, but damn, now I simply walk. I smoked up dozens of shoes in 2011 in Nome, 2012 in Anchorage and now chiefing up shoes here in Soldotna. I just walk everywhere. No car, no car payments, insurance, repairs nor gas. All monies that now support marijuana growers, local bars, pizza joints, fine restaraunts and hotels along the Kenai River.

So I walk. Fucking miles everyday. If yer ever down here on the Kenai Peninsula you'll fetch me and bun in our Vibram soled AARP felony fliers doing the big 8-mile loop powerwalk to the Soldotna PO, Jo-Anne's Fabrics on the Kenai Spur Hwy, the liquor store at Carr's-Safeway, Sal's Diner and Maverick Tavern on the Sterling Hwy. Simply put, I miss the stress you asshole cops call "action." And friendship.

Me and bun spent most of 2012 cruising all over Los Anchorage. For simplicity, we usually grab a euro-style hostel and simply dump our 8 pieces of luggage, shower and dress up, then head downtown for any meal at any time. And Rainier Beer. I forgot how I loved it as a kid on the mutilation farm. Good crisp 3.2% grocery store beer. Every idyllic childhood should be soaked in good Rainier, mine was. Now my seniorhood is also. Damn I'm predictable as an Eskimo in a liquor store.

Every morning, me and bun shit, shower and shave, then rally over to King's X to look for natives, wash down a beer and tonic water lots of lemons, then book right down 5th Avenue to hit Polar Bar, the Kodiak, and then downtown to the Panhandle, the Avenue and then Gaslight one block over on 4th. The REAL Unipaq bars like the Hub or 515 have been condemned and torn down. The Inupiaq patrons from those old bars are also gone. They were given a douche, then buried. Graveyards got standards too nigger.

The Kodiak Bar surprised me and bun. We avoided Mad Myrna's: loud, proud, up front and homo-sickee as an overflowing honeybucket fer breakfast. But the Kodiak is WAY more GAY. We're hip, cool and down with the brothers, but I still fucking hate ass packers, butt bandits and bearded men that ask to lick out my ear hole. Or something. Yup, I'm a real Archie Bunker when it comes to tolerance.

I'm trying to be broad-minded. I'm not. Obsolete humans like us fossils Tikigaq-Suomen instinctively avoid such terrible cultures that exclude pretty naked girls and mix poo-ass, light lofers and man-wood. Moderno HomoSapiens have advanced so far beyond me and bun, they even embrace e-coli, brown trout and skid marks, mudflaps and speed-bumps all mixed into one organic stinky tossed fecal salad. Gross.

So after a few weird and touching visits to the Kodiak, me and bun avoided it like the plague. Besides, every time me and bun get drunk on Queer Beer and pass out in a gay bar, we have the runs for days. Go ahead and laugh. I may be a very pretty man, but I'm one funny fucker.

Enough about fecal freaks.

I want to tell you about my year in Scareview, the new African Native settlement on top of what was a beautiful community formerly known as Fairview. I ain't kidding, that little Kivalina camp used to be called ANUS, or Alaska Native Services. The remnants of that haunted hospital are difficult to detect. The main buildings are long gone but the dormers and smaller cinder block buildings are still there. Sadly though, they've been infested with vermin quite similar to acorns.

I'm code talking like an asshole. I mean RuralCRAP. This organization is a community activist group of proud white faggots that is converting lots of Anchorage into rezzed out reservation shit-holes. The old Holiday Inn is now low IQ housing, so is the Henry House, Inlet Inn and Inlet Towers. Even the Red Roof Inn is now called the Red Skin Inn or more aptly, the Red Nose Inn. When they're mission complete, I won't be allowed into Eastern Anchorage. But bun will though, if you get my racist drift. Norsemen like me refuse to march the Trail Of Beers like a fucking midget asshole drunken Inupiaq, I walk like a Norwegian: the tall blond alcoholic.

I still love my Extreme North Arctic village existence in Barrow North of 70 Lat, but travelling all over Alaska absolutely kicks ass. As stated in earlier posts, I mentioned the roundabout goofy experiences me and bun have enjoyed since official retardation. I've likely ranted on too long about the plight of African Natives Unipaq, but I ain't kidding: quit yer job, rent out yer house and join us on this forever treasure hunt, beer garden and barbeque and Helsinki Cannibis Shoppe. Since real Alaskaholics winter in Alaska and I'd face a 10% cut in AK PERS monthly pay and a 100% cut in annual PFD if we Go Outside for more than 90 days then fuck it, stick with us, drink some beers, smoke my illegal cuban cigars and we can be "AK to the max."

I still remember Albert Monroe saying such hooey. Sure lost lots of drinking partners, you niggers oughta step up. Call it just a glich in your sobriety. Kidding. Albeit, it would be weird to smoke a homegrown bomber joint with y'all, but I'd love your company. Alas, I no longer wish you boys would drink so much, smoke nigarettes and do hemp drugs, unless y'all share with ME.

My plans are to boogy out of Soldotna at the end of May and find a hostel in Anchorage for the months of June, July and August. Summers in Anchorge are a lot of fun. Besides, the winter rates end in May on the Kenai.

ANMC for bun's million mile tune up and I book over to ANHC. Even with SOA PERS Medical Insurance, native hospitals don't take wiggers like me. So at ANHC I'll get the usual: blood draw to check that all the numbers I know are blasted wrong. 8 year hangovers can't be good.

I miss the food and drink dates with bun downtown. But this time I want a room at the Sockeye Inn on Fireweed so we can walk all over midtown and explore every single outlet and venue alcoholic and caloric. There are a buttload of gook shops fer sushi, Romano's fer Italian and pert near a hunnert other food adventures. Not so many bars like the old downtown but plenty of snobby watering holes fer this Finn.

Another reason I like Anchorage is their mass transit. Me and bun bus to her appointments at ANMC to see if her bad knee should be cut off at her neck. Or some hack medical shit-ass advice. We simply toss a few senior sheckels onboard and gondo dude. If we need to run down Clam Gulch or Soldotna for weed I just grab a rental car fer a day and rally. I like driving. I miss it too. But every day I drive is a day that I won't walk anywhere. Me and bun put on 25 pounds each month I drove a rental car.

Shoeleather express dudes. Plus the doc says I can put off eating Viagra for a few more years if I keep the 200 pound scrawny donkey on the 6-3 crooked frame. As I've lost weight since my heaviest at KPD the doctors have pulled glyburide, avandia, actos and lycinipril. Last few years I even dropped ritalin and metformin and now eat aspirin for my daily hangovers, vitamins fer the heck of it and green beer/green toke dudes to moderate my IQ. Can't be too sober nor too smart 'round you dickheads. I haven't eaten hard drugs in quite a few years. Miss 'em too.

I really should get my butt up to ANHC for other shit too. Since turning fifty back in 2011 I'm supposed to get a colonoscopy. Scares me to death. If I had a pussy, I'd be shoving shit in there all the time, but I'm not macho enough for a coat rack up my ass. Plenty of room up there though. I crap bigger than most. And it's where all this brilliant text comes from. Can't you smell it?

I also had a heart attack ten or so years ago. I can't recall any single instant, just a big blank of missing time: 9m3w2d. EKG and tricks doctoral determined I'll be fine with minimal damage to my heart: as long as I stay away from faulty wiring, electric fences and cattle prods. The Doc also recommended I avoid soviet prisons too.

So at the end of May, I'll be in ANC and likely at one of the hostels amid our luggage, pro-grade old people shoes and KY Silk. I always leave a laptop running in the hotel room, but I never carry a phone. I mean never. Talk is cheap, cell phones are invasive and are a "tell" that yer impotent, inept and immature. The reason I'm so darned good looking is I'm completely device free. If you need to talk to me and bun: fuck yourself, then send me an email. Phones are so....for faggots. Me and bun are evil, cursed and heterosexually both suck my dick. While you homos play with yer phones, I'm busy ejaculating WAY up inside cooter bunnik. Or your wife.

Yup. I'm a dandy. My wife will give me a kiss and then whispers "foreign object." Since menopause hun-bun has had a few minor emergency room visits due to my selfishness and impatience. I like sex. My body likes sex too. Most of all, the penis extraordinaire I inherited from my finno-esti grandfather also likes sex. On occassion I like to put a little rape into my marriage. Bad angles, cruel depth, poor lubrication and pushing the bottom out of an old gal with far too much weiner will likely leave even baby-making dark pussy sore, swollen and bright red and purple.

Sometimes resulting in urinary infections and Dr. Gyno visits. The good doctor closed the door and asked bun, "What happened to you and WHO did this to you! Were raped with a foreign object?" God I like my dick. Both weapon and great conversation piece until I go Berserker and skull fuck my very own wife. Her glass eye stays on the bed stand for days, cuz bun always keeps an eye out for me.

Fuck, I still jerk a load off everyday in the shower. Old swimmers' trick to raise testosterone and sperm count levels. Constant depletion of yer donkey bags stimulates MORE boners and again, more depletion and has a seriously positive effect on yer muscle mass. And yer dick size. Today: yank and attempt to tear yer dick out by the roots then spend some time with a shop vac hooked up to your now larger purple kookoo. A cop's wife somewhere will appreciate the larger you.

Poor menopausal bitches. Worse than mad cow. Despite vaginal dryness and mean as shit disposition, yer bloodless prunes will spite you regardless. Instead of being a human being and let you hire a nanny just to suck on teenage sugar pussy, these old hags prefer you pack it in her ass. In the mind of old dry native bitties, her shitter is still better than allowing us to shiver inside a gorgeous young girl.

My eyes are watering and my penis is blinking rapidly. I gotta get back on topic.

I'm here to bitch about my OWN menopause. Ya see, I been in good company with me bunnik, but I'm a victim of my own fatal Finnish finality and doomed angelic maturity. Despite Dr. Marilyn Grey's advice, I'm having a hard time reinventing myself and renewing my membership to the human race. Fuck I'm trying. I'm now a kind human and no longer horribly deadly and desire to be welcome in any of you all's camp fer a drink and smoke. I seen all good people turn their heads each day, but I got nowhere to walk away. My feet are hurting, my wife is shopping for burial plots in Point Hope and I'm standing in the middle of this page just dying fer some witty masculine harrasment or powder burns. Yup. I'm a soppy spastic and I surely hope we passed the audition. You feel that tragic depression too?

I don't have single friend. Oh sure I got bunnik. But we've been off-grid for so long we're getting really lonesome.

As Finns age, our peer groups drastically decline. No shit, as I age my friends leave me. Almost as tragic as Native males youthfully deceased or gone missing, I flail about and try to fly all over God's tortured creation to visit me best mates.

Flying back to Kotzebue, Point Hope, Galena or Barrow is always a forever tear-jerker. Everybody is busy getting old and not missing us. Shit, those that recognize us dwindle towards extinction so fast it makes an old Viking cry and elderly Eskimo women sob and wonder if we're invisible. We wave and yell hello and folks walk away and continue their daily chores without looking up.

Bun speculates that we passed away years ago and that this is all our post-mortem imagination. My dick still works really good, so she may be right. So I guess that handsome karlNbun couple are just ghosts.

Huh. I sure hope you boys make it down to the KP or midtown/downtown Anc and visit me and bun. At least legitimize my wretched existential isolation.

I'll lie and tell bun I seen some of my old cop-mates at Walmart's or some shit. She believes me. You shouldn't.

As I'm older, I sure miss working with you coppers.



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